


Something Borrowed

by days4daisy



Category: Dark Matter (TV)
Genre: ...But With More Porn, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Antagonism Leads to Sex, Canon-Typical Amnesia, Fix-It, Gunplay, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Season/Series 02, Unexpected feelings, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 03:09:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10402452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: “Holy shit, you’re alive,” Three says. Then, he punches One in the face.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Themisto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themisto/gifts).



> Thanks for the fun Dark Matter prompts, Themisto. Hope you enjoy this :)

“Holy shit, you’re alive,” Three says. Then, he punches One in the face.  
  
“What the hell!?” One is pinned to the vault wall before he can scramble away, Pip…or is that Lulu…pointed right between his eyes.  
  
“You son of a bitch,” Three hisses. “How the hell are you alive?” He’s not messing around, finger crooked on the trigger.  
  
One’s eyes dart between Three’s glare and the gun. “It’s a long story,” he snaps, “if you’d _get off me_ \--” Three’s arm grinds against his neck. One’s words choke into silence.  
  
“Two got you,” Three insists. “How’d you do it, huh? Transfer transit? Black market face-save?”  
  
“Wait, what?” It's hard to breathe. “What do you mean ‘Two got me’?”  
  
Three's eyes narrow. “What the hell, let's see if it sticks this time.” The barrel of his blaster shoves against One’s forehead. Pain blossoms between his eyes.  
  
It makes sense, suddenly. “I’m not Jace Corso!” One tries to shout. His voice comes out as a hoarse whisper.  
  
“Fuck you, One died on Hyperion 8." Three's words are ice. " _You_ killed him, you bastard-”  
  
“Three, it’s me, I swear!” One tries to move, but Three has the weight advantage. He scrambles for ideas. “I know you didn’t kill my wife, all right? I-I know what happened to Sarah - fuck!” The gun grinds harder. One’s heart thumps in his chest.  
  
“How the hell do you know about her?” Three demands.  
  
One racks his brain desperately. “You like the green protein bars more than blue ones, ok? You thought I sold out the crew, and I thought you did too. But we didn't; it was Six. He gave us up to the GA. I let you borrow  Charlotte’s Web that one time. It made you cry!”  
  
“Bullshit. Spider's a know-it-all.” A hint of doubt tugs at Three's mouth. His grip tightens on the gun. “Derrick Moss is dead."  
  
Three is close. Derrick Moss was _almost_ dead, until CoreLactic Industries brought him back to life. One isn't in any hurry to rehash the past few months. The surgeries. In and out of consciousness, in varying states of repair. Constant supervision under the too-watchful eyes of the board. Getting back on his feet. Escaping from his company's scrutiny. Clawing his way back to the Raza.  
  
"Bullshit,” Three repeats, quieter.  
  
One's eyes shift between the gun and Three’s glower. The metal is cold on One's cheek, skin already swelling from Three’s fist. Three caught him straight on. It’s going to be one hell of a shiner.  
  
“Back up,” Three warns, when One tries to move under him. The gun draws a 'c' from One's cheek to his mouth. A shiver curls down One’s spine. A false move could send a bullet through his skull.  
  
Three’s weapon was recently polished, gleaming under the overhead lights. Familiar, even this close. The barrel peels One’s lip back. It springs back up into place, and One jumps with it - a slight, startled rock on his heels. The gun is damp when it bumps against his chin.  
  
Three is a trigger-happy asshole, has been since One woke up from stasis as a number instead of a name. One needs to call the others for help. Or think of some way to talk Three down. Sneaking back on the ship without notice was a bad idea. One should have known this would happen, but he didn’t have a choice! He had to think fast when he had a chance to make a break from CoreLactic. There wasn’t exactly time to reach out for an invite!

One needs to get help, but he’s too busy staring up the barrel of Three’s blaster, and down the arm holding it. The hug of Three’s shirt and the dip of his collar. They're too close together. One has been gone too long.

He’s missed this, he realizes. The insanity, the danger, the ship. He’s missed Three too. Smug, self-serving prick...who didn’t kill his wife. Who One hated forever for no reason. Who always knew just how to get under One’s skin. One has missed him. And they’re standing too close.  
  
Three feels what he can’t say. For a moment, his head cocks in confusion. A bemused smirk follows. He lowers his arm from One’s neck. One swallows, both grateful and strangely disappointed. “Prove it,” Three orders.

Without hesitation, One peels off his shirt.

The proof is in One's surgery scars. Stitched lines form a frame around his torso. White pocks that were once bullet holes stand out on skin shaved clean for the procedures. Beyond the doctors, no one except One has seen his injuries before now.  
  
Three takes in the scars from robot scalpels and stray bullets. His eyes soften immediately. “Jesus, kid.”  
  
One doesn't want his pity. He was coddled beyond tolerance back at CoreLactic. Kindness was the bribe of the board, so long as he kept quiet about Hyperion 8 and Marcus Boone. One wants something else now, it’s why he needed to get back on the Raza. He wants something Three has always known how to give, whether One asked for it or not.

“Pants too?” One grumbles. Three frowns, startled out of his concern. His wary eyes stick on One’s, trying to read the situation.

“Fine,” Three replies. He grips his gun with two hands and aims. The safety is on; it’s for show at this point. One’s heart still throbs in his chest. A safety can fail, a finger can twitch...

One unzips his pants. He has to kick out of his boots to get them off. The cold hits him immediately, goosebumps marking his skin. His briefs provide little cover for his start swelling underneath.  
  
Three doesn’t hide that he’s looking. His eyes comb down One’s scarred body and hover over the half-erection in his shorts. One tries to ignore the thrill coursing through him. It’s because he’s home on the Raza, he tells himself. He’s wound up from nearly having his head blown off by this jerk. And from the danger of sneaking away from CoreLactic Industries.

The tremor in One’s fingers has nothing to do with Three. But Three will give him shit, like always. One lifts his head, ready to take him on. He isn’t prepared for the unfamiliar light in Three’s eyes. Something dangerous in its own right; too focused, a little crazy.  
  
“You son of a bitch,” Three murmurs, and then they’re kissing. Makes no damn sense, because they hate each other. They’ve always hated each other! Or, One thought he hated Three. It's all a jumble in his head now; lies, truth, and the overwhelming relief of being _home_.   
  
They’ve never kissed before, but it's less clumsy than it should be. Three's mouth is warm, and somehow he knows where to go. It starts slow but deep, long drags and sighs. Three’s clothes rub friction into his skin. One's scars are long-closed, but they still sting at the contact. Three’s pants are thick against his briefs. One’s want forms a tight sound in the back of his throat.  
  
This is a bad idea. One knows it, even as he unhooks Three’s belt holster. He’s itching to get the rest of Three’s clothes off, but their kiss is harder now and distracting as hell. One is flushed and out of sorts. Three’s hand buries in his hair. One’s groan dies between them.  
  
They wasted so much damn time! Put each other through hell for nothing. If One hadn’t survived, if they hadn’t gotten a second chance...  
  
The sentiment surprises One into opening his eyes. Three is watching him, low-lidded gaze alive with amusement. His mouth is pink and his pants are open, zipper parted in a lazy ‘v.’ His shirt is rucked up to mid-belly. The gun is pressed to One’s chest like an extension of his skin. Its metal is warm against his scars.

One can’t tear his eyes off the gun. He can still feel the barrel marks stinging between his eyes. And how the steel felt connecting his cheek to his mouth. “Lulu or Pip?” he asks.  
  
Three raises the blaster for One’s inspection. “Lulu,” he says. “She’s got the kiss on top.” Sure enough, there is a small red asterisk scratched into the top of the barrel. “You miss her or something?”

Three is joking with the question, but for some insane reason One doesn’t trust his voice. He manages a nod, remembering how the barrel peeled back his lip. The wet graze of the metal against his chin.  
  
“Christ, kid.” Three gets it. He always gets it somehow.

One's eyes cross to follow the barrel of the gun across the bridge of his nose. He’s hard, jutting up against Three’s thigh. Three’s mouth quirks in disbelief, but for once he doesn’t ruin things by being a dick. One is rewarded, instead, with Three’s thigh between his legs. The pressure is like heat exploding. One’s back arches against the wall.  
  
He can’t bite back his groan when the gun dips between his lips. His mouth opens wider, tongue dragged over the tip. It can still go off. This is Three, after all. It can go off, and this time there’s no pricy CoreLactic surgeon to save him. One's heart hammers in his chest. Every inch of his body feels like static.  
  
He blinks past the gun to Three pulling off his shirt with his free hand. His body is harder than One remembers, or maybe he’s seeing it with new eyes. One's fingers coast through the hair on his stomach. Three answers with a satisfied, “Damn right.” He removes the weapon from One’s mouth. It draws a wet stripe down the side of his neck. One feels the mark like something permanent branded into his skin. He can only imagine what he must look like, eye swollen and mouth smeared with his own saliva.

One forces Three’s pants down. Three’s boxers are tight, arousal outlined in black fabric. Three grins. “Not patient, are ya?”  
  
“They pulled six bullets out of me,” One states flatly. “I’m not patient.”  
  
“That’s not happening again,” Three tells him. The words are too serious, punctuated with narrowed eyes. Three is staking a claim like he has any right to. A few months ago, they were at each other’s throats. Now, all of a sudden, Three is making promises he can’t keep?  
  
One nods without thinking and drags a thumb over Three’s mouth. His lips are soft, parting in surprise at the touch. Three grumbles beneath him and steps out of his pants. One can feel him, heavy and thick, their bodies tucked together. The wall is cold against One’s spine. Three, by comparison, is burning up.  
  
One is in a haze by the time he realizes he now has Lulu in his hand. The gesture is out of character for Three, but he doesn’t ask. The gun bumps One’s thigh lazily as Three rolls his briefs to his knees. One is all-the-way thick, blushed red in Three’s hand.  
  
“I’ll be damned.” Three smirks. “Didn’t know you cared, man.”  
  
“Wasn’t exactly planning this,” One mumbles, but it’s too hard to keep up the offense. His hips jut forward, cock sliding across Three’s open palm. His fingers are a dull warmth scratching under One’s shaft.  
  
“I wasn’t either.” Three releases One long enough to raise the hand to his lips. When it winds back around, it’s wet from his own tongue. Three drags his fist up One's cock. “This ok?” he asks.  
  
“Fuck.” After a second, One remembers to add, “Yeah, it’s fine.” After another second, he pulls Three’s underwear down.  
  
To be honest, One would have gotten a kick out of Three having shortcomings below the belt. Would have shown that his hardass act was compensating for something all along. But it wasn’t. Three is big and thick, blood red and begging to fuck something. Fuck _One_. The thought hits so unexpectedly, One has to chew a cheek to keep from reacting.  
  
Three is too big for not being prepared...  
  
“What the hell?” Three gawks at One abruptly kneeling in front of him.  
  
One can’t remember ever doing this before. But he must have, right? It’s why his instincts have him on the ground without hesitation. Why his free hand knows to cup the base of Three’s cock. One guides him towards his lips. The floor is cold and hard against his knees. He doesn't care.  
  
“Kid, what the hell?” Three repeats. He braces a hand on the vault wall. Doesn’t want to choke One before this starts, probably.  
  
One can’t remember doing this, but he has a feeling he’s good at it. He’s too confident when he shoots an annoyed look upward. “Shut up,” he tells Three. “This’ll work.”  
  
“Huh? ... Shit!”  
  
Three is big. One’s mouth stretches to fit him; he has to work slow. His hand tightens around the base, squeezing in time with the movements of his head. Three is even heavier on One’s tongue than he’d expected. One gets him to half-length. It isn’t good enough. He needs Three wet and slick. That’s the only way One can make this work.

Because, apparently, One has been fucked by a man before. He knows what to do when he can’t be prepped.  
  
Three scratches the vault wall, restless. His eyes are smoldering, breaths hitched as One works around his shaft.  
  
Curious, One slides Lulu between his spread thighs. Three groans like he’s been fucked just right; a startled, sharp sound. His hand falls from the vault wall to One’s shoulder. One likes how hard his grip is. He offers appreciation by forcing more of Three into his mouth. One hasn’t done this in a long time, apparently. His throat is tight. He tries to work up more saliva, anything to make it easier. His jaw is sore. His lips are wet.  
  
“Fuck, kid, you look good like this.” It’s Three’s best attempt to sound like his cocky-ass self. But it fails. His voice is shaking, no question left about how much One has thrown him off his game. One wonders how long it’s been since Three had a decent blowjob. The size must throw people off. What a waste. Especially since ok-head seems to shut him up...  
  
One can’t grin, but his eyes close with satisfaction. He takes short breaths through his nose. Even relaxed, he can't quite swallow Three down completely, but he takes enough.

One isn’t only good at this, he _likes_  it. The more of Three he manages to get down, the more he feels an answering throb pulse between his legs. One is tempted to get them both off like this; fist himself to completion and wreck Three in his mouth. But he started this with other thoughts in mind, and he isn’t the quitting type.

One lifts Lulu higher between Three’s legs. The barrel nudges his balls up to rasp against One’s chin. "God," Three hisses. One opens his eyes in time to see his stomach clench, muscles outlined in soft hair. Three is staring at One, hands braced on his shoulders.  
  
it’s good enough, One decides. He sits back on his heels, easing Three out of his mouth. His cock is glossy from the blowjob, red and hard. One licks the taste of him from his lips. He feels a pang in his gut, again tempted to finish him. Three's erection is enticingly wet from One’s mouth, bobbing in front of him like a carrot dangling for a rabbit.  
  
Three's face is warm. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbles.  
  
One grins, not denying it. As soon as he's on his feet, Three urges him against the wall. Pleasure shoots through One when he hits the metal siding. Three’s mouth is insistent on his, and One’s opens instinctively. He wonders if Three can taste himself; it’s a thought he likes a lot. One allows himself to get lost in it, not complaining when Three urges his lips wider with his tongue. He also doesn’t complain when Three peels Lulu from his fingers. The gun eases across One’s thigh. It’s followed by Three’s cock, wet from One’s mouth.

“What the hell,” Three grumbles between them. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”  
  
One rolls his eyes and turns around, hands braced to the wall. What he wants is obvious; it’s _insane_ how much he wants it.

The only one hesitating is Three. “You sure about this, kid?” he asks.  
  
Sweet as the sentiment is, One scowls. “Don’t call me ‘kid’ before you fuck me.”  
  
“Oh. Right.”

Three rubs his face against the back of One’s neck. One arches, erection heavy and distracting. He's tempted to jerk himself off if Three doesn't get on with it. After everything they’ve gone through, leave it to this asshole to take his sweet time!

Three smirks between his shoulders, as if hearing his thoughts. “Why the hell are you so hot, huh?” One feels the words like a touch down his spine.  
  
“Will you just-” One’s voice chokes off at sudden pressure between his legs. Cold, metal. The barrel of the gun between his asscheeks. Stroking his hole, making him shudder. His legs spread wider for the touch.  
  
“Mind if Lulu has some fun with you next time, when I’ve got some goddamn lube on me?”  
  
‘Next time’ is a can of worms One isn’t up for opening now. But he can’t help his response, an incoherent syllable as his waist shifts back on the barrel. Just the thought of steel inside him...  
  
The blaster withdraws, and Three loops an arm around his waist. One stiffens; the pistol is on his stomach, warm from where it thrust between his legs. He feels different pressure now, hot and wet between his legs. One chews on his lip to keep from pushing back. He needs Three to work slow; even prepared this is going to hurt. But it wouldn’t be them if it didn’t hurt a little, right?  
  
It’s been a long time since One has been fucked.

The thought hits him out of nowhere when the tip of Three’s cock fills him. One’s shoulders stiffen. He gulps down breaths, trying to force himself to relax. Three’s gun is pressed to his stomach. A steadying weight, to match the kiss pressed to his neck. Three's grip on Lulu is strong; knuckles white points, fingers steady.  
  
“You sure you’re not a virgin? Jesus Christ.”  
  
“Shut up,” One rasps, “Been awhile, that’s all.”  
  
“Oh yeah?" Three sounds skeptical. "How long?”  
  
One drops a hand from the wall to cover the gun on his stomach - and Three’s fingers. Heat blossoms on his face, strained with effort as he splits his legs wider. “How the hell should I know?” he snaps.  
  
A snort of laughter answers. “I hear ya,” Three says. He shifts forward - slow, testing. One groans. It’s strange, he still can't remember doing anything like this before. But he knows he has. Being filled ignites his nerves like a dirty secret.  
  
“It’s fine,” One encourages, easing back. More of Three inches into him, hot and hard. Even calm, One feels himself stretching. The pain of being opened thrills him, as does having Three so close. Stomach to his back. Mouth between his shoulders. The occasional curse bursts on his skin. But Three is going too slow. “I said it’s fine,” One grits, glowering over his shoulder.  
  
He meets Three’s amused gaze, darkened by something more frantic. “Been awhile for me too, all right?”  
  
One rolls his eyes, but there’s satisfaction in this knowledge. There’s also power. He releases Three's hand in favor of reaching back for his thigh. His grip surprises Three, makes him stutter forward. He’s almost all the way in, One filled wide enough to burst. The gun twitches against his stomach. Three’s forehead presses on his hair. “ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes.

One's pulse sprints faster. He releases Three's leg so he can cup himself.  
  
Three’s body grinds against his, finally filling him to the max. One is stretched so wide he can’t even talk. He pumps himself, too overwhelmed to get a good rhythm going. He wants to demand that Three move, or just _do something_. But words fail him, chapped sounds falling off his tongue.

Three’s mouth grazes a corner of his. One cranes his head back, catching him in full. Three's stubble burns on his face. The gun, and the hand holding it, rise to cover the bullet scars on One’s chest. One would bet anything that Three can feel his pulse barreling under the surface.  
  
The pressure between his legs eases, then fills him again. One groans between their lips. “Easy,” Three mumbles. One squeezes himself harder, grinding back to meet Three. It hurts, and it’s _good_. Skin smacks together, seeming to echo between the walls of the vault.

Three slips from their kiss to stifle a curse in One's shoulder. A crease of failing concentration folds between his brows. it's a good look on him, really good… It takes too long for One to realize he’s staring. Why the hell is he feeling this much?  
  
The nozzle of the gun scrapes one pebbled nipple. One jerks, startled. Their bodies fit together too easily. One is red in the face and glazed over. It shouldn’t be this good the first time. He shouldn't be feeling so much.  
  
One keeps his head turned. It lets him watch the struggle contort Three’s usually-smug expression. One thumbs across his own cockhead.

An incessant drumming pulses through his torso. It swells up to his chest, choking off his breaths. He grabs Three, feels his hand clench around the gun.  
  
The arrogant side of One wants Three to come first. He hears the hitched breaths and feels incoherent mutters stumble down his back. But One wants to come too. He’s been on the brink for too long; not just in this moment, but the past few months. One has spent every minute inching his way back to where he belongs.  
  
One made it, finally. He's where he belongs now.

It’s a dumb thought, sentimental and ridiculous. But the word reverberates through One when he stutters back on Three. His orgasm comes with a soundless gasp. Teeth catch his throat, sucking pain into his skin. One feels like he’s melting. He tips wearily, cheek on Three’s forehead. A sound that isn't at all like him dribbles out before he can stop it.  
  
“Shit!" The word breaks against One's neck. Three comes as the final twitches of One’s orgasm twist him out. One feels over-full. Sweating and messed up. In desperate need of a shower but unwilling to move. His arms are sore, and a nagging ache shoots through his legs.  
  
The only thing One hears for awhile is Three breathing. His exhales sting across whatever hickey the bastard left on his throat.

After a few minutes, One musters enough of a voice to mumble, “Good to be alive, huh?” Even to himself, the joke sounds hollow.

Three glares before kissing him. One’s mouth is swollen and sore. He winces, but still nods back and welcomes more.

He doesn’t need words to know what Three’s saying. What happened on Hyperion 8? It won’t happen again. Three won’t let it. None of the crew will.  
  
One sighs under him. He knows better than to buy it, no certainties in this life. But he believes it, because he wants to. Took him long enough to get back to the Raza. One isn't in any hurry to leave again.  
  
*The End*


End file.
